


A Change of Course

by TelepathJeneral



Series: Demands of Empire [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-12-29 23:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18303728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathJeneral/pseuds/TelepathJeneral





	1. Chapter 1

She had not realized how much fire there could be in space.

Her memories of her life are blurry and unclear. She knows that there was brightness, clean expanses of shimmering white, and kind faces with soft smiles. There was variety, and a warmth that didn’t come from the ship engines. There was a woman with dark hair and tears in her eyes, and another woman with lines on her face and hair the color of a sunset. There was a boy, whose smile filled the room and always made her smile back. She remembers these things in dreams, clinging to them as comforts, but the memories are vague at best.

She is worried more about the immediate present. There is fire, lots of fire, and several men are yelling all at once. She loves their uniforms, the big blocks of blue and red that indicate a specific guard, but they are running and cannot stop to talk to her. Her uncle has kept her close to him, his cloak pooling around her as she sits on the bed, but his eyes never stop moving. He reminds her of the sky when she looks in his eyes, bright and sparkling with the jokes he tells. There are storm clouds now, and he whispers under his breath, muscles tensing as he prepares for action. She likes being a good child, and so she does not interrupt the adults when they are busy. But their worry is contagious, and she takes short, shallow breaths, refusing to cross the threshold into crying truly.

She is not a _baby_ , after all. She is a princess. She has a beautiful mother and a good, strong uncle and a ‘Mon Mothma’ who sneaks fruits to her after dinner. And so when her uncle pats her knee, and whispers to her, and apologizes that he must leave her—just for a moment, to keep her safe—she nods bravely, offering a smile instead of clinging to him like she wishes she could.

She did not cry when she left her mother. Her uncle watches her carefully, his hesitation obvious even to her.

“Even in our darkest moments, Leia, there will still be a light. Remember that. Watch for it. The light will always return.”

She furrows her brow in confusion as he leaves his cloak behind and straightens to his full height. “But it’s bright in here. It isn’t dark yet.” The lights are all still working, after all—and the flashing alarms make it even brighter.

“No. Perhaps not yet.” He looks away from her, his hand coming to his hip to unclip the slim silver hilt resting there, and she forces herself to stay still. She will not move. He is relying on her to stay here until he returns. She bites her lip and nods to herself, watching his back as he moves down the hallway and disappears into the chaos.

Everyone is shouting. And running. But she does not move. And then there comes a _noise_ , like a thousand birds screaming into the already noisy space of the ship, and she cries out to hear it. The noise is doubled, humming with _power_ past the guards who are making their retreat, and she scrambles back on the bed. The noises clash, shattering against each other with terrifying speed and power, and she can see them in her mind: huge fires, burning into her retinas, the weapons like lasers but so much worse, sprouting from the hands of men she does not recognize. The ship shudders with impacts, noises echoing down the hallway, and she clings to the cloak in her hands. The fabric is rough, nothing like her dresses or shirts, but she clings to it all the same, watching the doorway for the figure that will return to claim her.

She can feel her whole life replaying in these short few minutes. All the adults around her, her early memories of clinging to various hands offered to her. Her uncle carrying her, lifting her in his arms. His stories. Her mother’s tales about her own home planet. Sleeping soundly in the meeting rooms, long after she was meant to be in bed. She clings to the cloak and remembers these things, unsure of when she begins to cry.

Her mother would have done something. Her mother could have helped, or fought back, or put out the fires. But she is just a child, and she can’t do these things. Not yet, at least. The fear grips her, tightening its hold, and she takes a deep breath to start screaming just as a figure reappears in the doorway.

It is not her uncle.

Red light pours from his hand, like blood from a wound, and she stares at him without moving. There is no face on the being, no emotion she can see, but she can _feel_ him watching her. It is another short lifetime before he moves forward, the light disappearing back into the hilt in his hand even as he reaches up to remove his helmet. She tries to scramble back further, but finds only the wall behind her, her eyes fixed on the man’s face as he shakes his hair free and looks at her with his own eyes.

His eyes are golden, sharp like the rising sun. She has the feeling that he does not tell jokes.

But he sets the helmet aside and kneels to her, like he’s paying tribute, and she has seen people do it often enough to her mother. She carefully holds out a hand, edging forward, and gasps in surprise as he reaches out to take her hand in one of his huge gloves, then tugs her forward. She falls into his arms, surrounded by the darkness of his armor, and she shivers with the fear again as he holds her tight.

She finally realizes that he is speaking, speaking to _her_ , and he is whispering her name. She clings to him, unsure of why or how or what to do, but he knows her name.

“ _Leia_. Leia, my Leia, I have waited and I have felt you and I know—we have waited so _long_ , Leia, far too long. My daughter.”

“I—“ She tries to answer, her breath coming too fast for her to speak properly. “You can’t—My father is—“

“I am your father.” He says, and the conviction in his voice is enough to persuade her. He is strength. He is _power_. He is not afraid in this moment, even though she is so, so afraid. And even though she does not know him, even though things are changing, she _admires_ that in him. He is strong.

She wants to be strong too. Like her mother. But especially like her father.

He stands, picking her up in both arms, but she is still holding onto the cloak and so it comes with her as he moves. He watches her, his expression unreadable, but finally he nods curtly as he moves to reclaim his helmet. “We must leave everything.”

“But this—“

“We must leave everything.” His voice allows for no argument, and she tenses, fingernails digging into the fabric before letting it slip from her hand. The cloak falls to the floor, only a pile of shapeless brown now, and she feels the tears come back to her eyes as the man—her father—carries her from the room. His helmet covers his face again, and she is nothing more than a bundle of white in the midst of his blackness. The ship screams, the men shout, and she can feel the chaos pressing in around them, but he moves forward without hesitation. He is like a lone comet, moving through space without any concern for the dangers or worries of the galaxy.

She does not see anything she recognizes, and so she closes her eyes, hiding from the lights and concealing herself in the darkness of his armor. They leave the chaos of her ship, moving farther and farther away from the things she remembers, and she dries her tears as they continue to move.

She is with her father now.

The entire galaxy is going to change.


	2. Chapter 2

She has _hated_ this.

She learned quickly not to say the words ‘I hate’. They only made Sidious grin, his yellowed teeth gripping his lower lip like a predatory spider’s legs, and they made her father stare at her with his expressionless mask. But that does not stop her from _feeling_ the hatred, and it churns within her like water in a tidepool. Or like lava in a lava flow.

Such analogies are lost, here, perched on the deck of an Imperial Star Destroyer. She has been on dozens already, memorized their features and specifications from early on. But they are cold, not hot like her training rooms or Sidious’s quarters or her father’s speeches to her.

And at the front of this one is Tarkin.

She cannot _see_ him. Not like others. Sidious has nourished her abilities, and she thrives not merely on his praise but on honest achievement. When she can surprise him, she knows she has won, just a little bit. The Sith sorceries are no simple thing, and Sidious himself has ignored most of them. Her father remains mostly ignorant. But she has practiced, and she can achieve things much like the Jedi of old: sensing beings from great distances, probing their motivations and thoughts, with a deftness that prevents them from ever recognizing her touch. It had been funny the first few times, prodding the troopers until they started giggling at their posts or awkwardly doing a waltz down the corridors. But she learned to stop that almost immediately.

Tarkin eludes her, though. She knows he is important—no one would be the first High Moff if he _wasn’t_ important—but he is difficult to understand. He is a politician. Her father sneers at the word, and yet it describes Tarkin better than she can. He deals with words, with talk, with paltry treaties and trade routes. He is a moff. He does not understand the _real_ work going on in the galaxy.

But her father is here, on the deck of Tarkin’s ship (because _of course_ the man would have his own ship, every kriffing officer gets a ship if they toady to Sidious properly, it doesn’t make him _special_ ) and watching Tarkin from behind his mask, and she waits. Every time she is permitted to come with her father, the troopers stare at her like a zoo animal.

She hates that, too, but that hatred is sweeter and more familiar, and she has turned it into a game.

Oh, she isn’t a fool. She knows that Sidious and Vader plan every single one of her movements. She’s never been allowed out of their sight, except for a week and a half on some nameless mudball planet, and even that was probably orchestrated by Sidious himself. Coming with her father—Vader—is no mere vacation, and she can already hear Sidious’s questions for when she returns.

She has seen Tarkin before. Met him, briefly, in one of her ‘displays’ before the councils. Sidious likes her, likes _having_ her in the same way she likes having her datapad, and even if she is a bit…’undeveloped’ in his eyes, he still shows her off on rare occasions. He has not trained a girl before. Her physical abilities have disappointed him. But still, he is proud.

She cannot determine if he is right to be.

And so she watches, silent, her face as expressionless as the mask of her father beside her. She is the smaller, less imposing version of Darth Vader, clad in black and outfitted with layers of fabric rather than the more robust armor. She has not made her lightsaber, but there is a small blaster clipped to her waist, and a variety of other weapons hidden across her body in places no one would think to check. The habits are drilled into her each day, and she knows that someday—when she is older—they will be important.

Tarkin walks across the deck of the ISD as if he’s taking a stroll. Very confident in his abilities, it seems. That in itself doesn’t tell her anything: skillful men have just as much right to be confident as strutting fools. He checks his staff at regular intervals, which earns her quiet approval. None of the troopers have interfered with them on this visit, but the lieutenants have watched her with the same expressionless gaze she gives them.

It is, overall, incredibly boring on the deck of a Star Destroyer when there isn’t a battle on, and though she is accumulating as much information as possible, Leia allows herself to relax, convinced that the routine of the ISD is just the same as all the others. Tarkin is merely a rather proficient politician.

And then something unexpected happens.

She has learned long ago to stop looking at her father for information. He rarely speaks when there are others around, and his poise is nearly perfect. His mind is sealed to her, as is Sidious’s, and his reactions tell her nothing about the environment she faces at a given moment. He responds the same to Motti, to Tagge, to the lowest moon-bound baronet and the most elegant courtier on Coruscant. He is solid and stable, always.

And yet when Tarkin approaches, when he turns aside and returns to where Vader and Leia are standing beside the tactical table, Vader _moves_. It is not much, and she only realizes it after the movement has finished, but Vader has angled himself to better watch Tarkin, and she looks up to the helmet to watch in hidden astonishment.

“The Outlands are performing well, Lord Vader. Better than I’d hoped.”

“Yet their discipline is not always what we might expect.”

Tarkin nods, spreading his arms to the side in concession. “We knew the Rim would be difficult to tame. I will not make excuses. You have access to the facts. But until we have a bigger station, or a more imposing presence, forcing this cooperation between the Academies and the Outlands Forces and the local governments will always be a difficult balance.”

Leia suppresses her own reaction. Too often does she feel compelled to respond, especially when men keep talking merely to hear the sound of their own voice. But it sounds to her as if Tarkin is making excuses, just couching them in different language. But Vader says nothing, and she is prohibited from speaking, and so they return to silence.

“Seswenna and Eriadu are doing what they can.” Tarkin’s tone has changed, just slightly. “And the trade routes are stronger than they ever were under…previous administration.”

Vader nods at this, raising a hand halfway to beckon Leia to follow him, and he moves through the tactical space to lead Tarkin into a corridor. Leia is little more than Vader’s shadow, dogging his heels, but she feels Tarkin’s eyes on her as they leave the main deck and enter the relative quiet of the corridors. Troopers are still visible in their gleaming white, stationed at various corners, but they ignore their superiors as they pass. When Vader slows, Leia risks a look at Tarkin, and is shocked to see him examining her with intense scrutiny. His eyes are crystal blue, chilling her just as the rest of his ship has chilled her, and she can see the lightness where age has begun to leave its mark in his hair. He has no beard, no mustache, and so his expression is open and clear to her, yet it tells her nothing. She remains close to Vader, and waits, listening closely as they continue.

“We cannot imagine the project will solve all our problems in the Rim.”

“The project is a single solution to a variety of problems. We do, however, risk placing too great a hope in it.”

“We do not rely on hope.”

“No. That we do not.” Tarkin taps a finger against his thigh, meeting Vader’s mask, then looks back to Leia. “Is she—”

“She is permitted to hear this.” Vader nods, reaching out a hand to grasp Leia’s shoulder. She is confused and surprised—he rarely touches her, much less in public, and she is frozen again under Tarkin’s gaze. “She knows more about the project than most of our staff.”

Tarkin says nothing to this, watching her still. It is Vader who must continue this time, moving his hand to Leia’s back to support her as he speaks. “Leia, inform the High Moff of our accomplishments with the Munns.”

“The Galactic Banking Clan has been convinced to lend greater assistance to our…civilian endeavors.” The thought of it displeases her, but Tarkin is a civil authority—perhaps this is meant to endear her to him.

That thought sickens her a little, but she continues anyway.

“The Academies will include educators and influencers from local governments. An effort to establish more peaceful relations with local groups is being undertaken by a specific task group, funded exclusively by the Clan’s contributions.” Most of this remains only a theory to her. She and Vader have, on occasion, shared the belief that committing more to the military would do more than any specific task groups.

Tarkin raises an eyebrow, glancing again to Vader. “So we aren’t bankrolling the project with the Clan’s credits?”

“The Empire funds the project. These efforts are less…overt.”

“Palpatine does play a wide game.” Tarkin nods, looking to a viewport some meters away. Leia is disappointed that she cannot explain _how_ the Munns were convinced, or the research she was able to carry out in some of the older libraries, but Tarkin seems to have moved on.

“And how do you feel about our Emperor, Leia?” The question startles her slightly, and she looks back to Tarkin before looking to her father. He still wears his mask, but he has turned to face her too, and the amount of interest suddenly shocks her. She is afraid again.

She could shiver, but the fear twists inside her, flooding her with adrenaline and reminding her that she is strong and she has power and she can _do_ things, regardless of what this High Moff thinks of her.

“Our Emperor is leading us to the future.” She says, chin jutting into the air. “He is the only one with the vision to bring us there, and the power to accomplish it, and the courage to see it through. I am very, very lucky to be here to see it.” She inhales, aware now that Vader has moved his hand from her back, and the two men study her for a quiet moment before Tarkin smiles, just briefly.

“And you truly believe that.”

“I would not have said it otherwise. Lies are for—” Ah. That was perhaps a misstep—calling Tarkin a liar to his face, or associating him with the other meddling moffs, could be a touch disastrous. But her father nods too, reaching for her to take her under his arm.

“Leia has so rarely interacted with moffs and politicians, Governor. She is learning first the meaning of power, of enforcing that power. The delicacies of politics will come later.”

Again, that flickering smile—then Tarkin clasps his hands behind his back, bows to the both of them, and straightens in a half-salute. “I would be pleased to observe the lady’s progress. As exhaustive as her education will be, I flatter myself to think I could offer my contribution at some step.”

Leia smiles to herself, content in the knowledge that Sidious and Vader have already planned out everything for her. She does not need this moff. But Vader’s next words practically rob the air from her lungs, freezing her in place again as Vader nods.

“I am sure the Emperor already has plans for your input, Governor Tarkin. Leia will need to be familiar with all aspects of our Empire. And some of that education will come only with experience.”

Leia knows that it is not becoming of her to whine, or complain. She has not offered a complaint since the first year of her training. But this news, this information, bandied about so _carelessly_ to a _moff_ —she could gasp with the shock, with the sheer offense, and yet the two men merely nod and go their separate ways. She has to follow Vader, of course, following behind close enough to grasp his cape if she wished, but her mind is churning again with anger and irritation.

Oh, no, she is no longer afraid. Not of anything, and especially not of High Moff Tarkin. But if he thinks for a moment that he has any cause to _educate_ her—

Well, she can only wish for an opportunity to demonstrate her education in return.


	3. Chapter 3

Leia has come to love the ISDs. They are not a single-pilot craft, of course, not responsive like the TIEs or swishy like any of the corvettes she’s piloted, but they are solid. A testament to the Empire’s strength and ability, on display for the galaxy to see. They are a second home for her now, and she can maneuver through them as easily as swimming through water. Her uniform is dark, black like Vader’s, but accented with silver in points.

 _Like Tarkin_ , she thinks sometimes, pleased by the minor association. Tarkin has so much more panache, all the flair, the real power and dynamic strength of the public face of Empire. Of course, she knows her role is nothing like Tarkin’s. Moffs are supposed to be seen, to be obvious. Tarkin’s power comes from his visibility. She is meant to be silent, unseen, the dark hand of power supporting Tarkin’s public efforts. Just like her father.

Even so, the crew know about her presence here, and being _too_ secretive usually has the opposite effect of making her more obvious. She acts as if she owns the place, because she sort of does, and they never question her. It is so pleasing to have Tarkin’s support, when she is on his ship, and it is comfortable in its own way.

And Vader is here. Vader, her father, has joined them. Tarkin as the host of their little group, Vader as a guest of honor, and she the eager apprentice. It would only be more complete if Sidious could join them, and lead his Empire from the very forefront.

Vader has taught her so much. Vader respects Tarkin a great deal, and it is only because of Vader’s respect that she tolerated the man at first. But Tarkin has proved himself to her, and she understands her father’s respect. They lead _together_ , never in competition. She understands this now, after having seen them. Tarkin is easy to admire, and she finds it convenient that her father fosters such an understanding.

Watching them together is even more interesting, even more educational. There is something that shimmers below the surface when they are together, something silvery and glittering that sparkles when they meet. Tarkin is the only man that Vader will acknowledge fully, aside from Sidious, but he is at ease with Tarkin. She has never seen her father _at ease_ outside of their private quarters. And when Tarkin and Vader touch, when Vader reaches out to brush Tarkin’s arm or when Tarkin grasps Vader’s shoulder, they stop being two separate people and become one _whole_. She doesn’t understand it, not completely. It comforts her a little, to know that Vader has someone like this in his life, and she flatters herself to think that it makes Tarkin something…important to her. As far as she knows, she does not want Vader to die—not before her training is finished, at least—and she does not want Tarkin to die, and she certainly does not want Sidious to die. They all have things to teach her, and they all…well, they all _need_ each other. And they all adore her, so it works out in the end.

She enjoys watching them, Vader and Tarkin. They turn the mundane procedure of the Imperial schedule into a delicate dance. Like fighting, only more considerate for the partner. She can watch them for ages, if needed. She enjoys being their shadow, following them both, and so she watches when they duck into the outer corridors. They are quick, but she is young, and she keeps to the edges where no one thinks to look. She monitors them, from the corners. Just in case, of course. The stormtroopers are good, but they do not have her abilities.

The two men are even more interesting when they are alone. Tarkin reaches up, taking Vader’s arm, and they face each other to create their own private world. She cannot hear what they are saying, but she watches closely.

Tarkin reaches up and removes Vader’s helmet, and Leia feels her chest tighten at the image. Vader only removes his helmet for Sidious and for her. No one else is meant to know about the man beneath the helmet, behind that solid mask, but Tarkin is there _smiling_ at the very human face beneath. Tarkin is reaching up, touching her father’s face, smiling and softening in a very un-Tarkin-like way.

She remembers, vaguely, a memory of her mother. She had one, evidently, or else she would not have the memory. She has wondered, in the dark at night, about the exact processes that led to her creation. Oh, the biological features are all well and good. As she has aged, she has been… _made aware_ of the way her biology affects her interactions with various males. The important feature is to use those failings to her advantage—but her father is, all things considered, a male of her species. He had to go through the process of reproduction somehow. And Leia has considered these things, because there is not a single authority in the Imperial spectrum who can give her a proper answer.

How did her father feel about her mother? Was it a moment of convenience? Was she an accident, a mistake from her father’s youthful aberrations? Did Sidious order her production, like one of his Star Destroyers? She knows that these are pointless questions, that there will never be answers, but when she sees her father here—when she sees _Tarkin_ touching him like this—all the questions come back to her at once.

Tarkin is not her parent, not really. She owes her loyalty to her father, not to Tarkin. Perhaps there was a mother, once, a woman whom Vader loved and touched like this, a woman with whom Vader copulated like some _beast_ in a _field_ —

And now Tarkin is _kissing_ him. Without the helmet, Tarkin is able to reach up and grasp her father, to kiss him on the lips, to pull him into a deep embrace that only confirms that they were once meant to be two halves of the same whole, and Leia feels herself stumbling even as she realizes that she _should not be here_.

So this is—

So this is why—

It is disloyal of her to be seeing this, to be thinking these things, to be questioning the relationships at play. Is it that Tarkin really isn’t that important, it is merely that Vader finds him _attractive_? Is this merely nepotism, somehow, even here at the peak of Imperial power? Is all her respect for Tarkin founded on a lie, on this fiction that Vader has maintained for so long—for her whole life?

That cannot be it. Tarkin is a good leader. He is powerful, and dynamic, and even as Leia struggles to catch her breath, she realizes that it is not the end of the world. Tarkin’s attraction—whatever this flirtation is—to her father does not change his abilities. She has seen them first-hand. And she knows Vader is still as capable as always, and he has not changed.

Is it possible that these two men can be completely whole in themselves, be totally and completely capable, and merely…kiss, in empty corridors, when they believe themselves to be alone?

…Will she have to do this, if she ever finds someone so dramatically alive and powerful to capture her attention, and when she has her own command one day? Will she be reduced to sneaking around any observers to enjoy a partner?

Again, the threat of disloyalty returns. This is a dangerous path. It threatens her training, and all the precepts she has learned over her short life. She cannot probe this too much, lest her world truly start to collapse.

But she can still respect her father, even with this. She can respect Tarkin. She will not tell them what she knows, or allude to it, or reference it at all, but she will consider it. It may have answered some questions, but it has asked so many, many more, and she will have to watch them closer still.

All the same, perhaps there is also time for her to give them both their privacy.


End file.
